


There Will Be Light

by PartyhardDrunkard



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Based on tumblr imagines, Child Abuse, Dark subject matter, F/M, Lolita, Slow Build, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartyhardDrunkard/pseuds/PartyhardDrunkard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though nothing will keep us together, we could steal time...just for one day.  We can be heroes, forever and ever.</p><p>What do you say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lola

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is based off the recent (and totally AH-MAZING) Jim Gordon imagines by imagineism on tumblr. I got a huge muse for it and just had to expand. Hope you enjoy, even if it might be a little weird. Hope Jim isn't too out of character.

**There Will Be Light**

**Chapter 1: _Lola_**

_Lola is on the floor.  She's wanting more.  She's wanting more._ Well, ain't that ironic?  You just so happened to be nicknamed Lola (your own doing, but still) and you were on the floor.  The dance floor, anyway - although, it was rather small and you were the only person currently occupying it. You were only sixteen.  A little too young to be painting the town red, but honestly....a fake ID did wonders in a city like Gotham.  A city where absolutely no one gave even the smallest bit of fucks.

As you danced away your sorrows to the song that you had practically demanded be played ( _Lolita by Elefant, to be precise_ ), your mind began to wander.  You were so young, what were you even doing here?  Why were in this position?  Why were you allowing people to walk all over you?  You supposed it must have been teenaged angst, but....you knew damn well that not everyone went through what you went through.  Especially not on a daily basis.

As the song came to an end, you sighed and slinked your way over to the bar, where most of the other club patrons were currently practically drooling on themselves over the attractive wait staff.  The dress you had decided to wear that night clung to your curves nicely, despite the fact that there shouldn't have been any curves there in the first place.  You blamed the growth hormones that were in chicken for how quickly your body had developed.  But, you also tended to use that body of yours and that fact that you looked much older than your years to your advantage.  You quite enjoyed going out, picking older men to flirt with, and winding them up only to pull back at the last second.  It gave you the power that you felt you were lacking in your ever day life.

You ordered a drink, whiskey, and leaned your elbows on the bar as you waited for it to arrive.  When you looked over out of boredom (your usual spot was dead as a door nail tonight!), your eyes widened.  Was that....Jim Gordon?   _ **The**_ Jim Gordon?  In this crappy little spot?  Was he there to arrest someone?  That thought made you prickle with fear.  Suddenly, your fake ID felt like it was going to burn a hole straight through your pocket.   _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

But your internal screeching was silenced as soon as the older detective simply walks towards the bar.  No badge out, no look of _'lets fuck this shithole up_ ', just a man that had had a long day at work and needed to wind down.  Your drink was slammed down in front of you just at that moment and it made you jump slightly, the sound of the glass meeting the wood of the bar being too close and too sudden.  You reached out, taking a generous gulp of the alcoholic beverage that you shouldn't have even been drinking when a voice sounded next to you.

"I'll have what she's having." You turned your head and almost spat out your drink.  Oh good lord, he had decided to sit right next to you.  Could he smell fear?  Could he tell just from looking at you that you shouldn't have even been there?  You had thought that you had done a better job of turning yourself into a twenty three year old, but now you weren't so sure.

Then it hit you that you were still staring at him with a deer in the headlights look on your pretty face.  You felt your face flush a brilliant shade of pink and you chuckled before downing the rest of the whiskey in your glass.

"Sorry." You muttered, sliding your empty glass back onto the bar, "Just wasn't expecting someone like you to be in a place like this."  Smooth, you idiot.  Real smooth.

To your surprise, Jim let out a low laugh.  Well...maybe not a laugh.  It was an odd sound.  Odd, but still...good.  Like a laugh and a chuckle tried to have a baby and failed in a really endearing way.  It fit him better than you thought it would.

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say to you?" Oh.  Oh my god.  Perhaps this place wasn't so dead after all, if Jim fucking Gordon was flirting with you.  This could end one of two ways.  You either have the time of your life winding him up and watching him go....or you totally bomb it and get walked out of the joint in handcuffs.  Don't get me wrong....the handcuffs did sound rather appealing, especially with someone like Gordon at the other end.

"Yeah, I suppose it is." You respond, playful smirk catching on your full lips as you look at him sheepishly from beneath your lashes.  All faux doll-like innocence and lace.

Judging from the way his eyes darkened just that little bit, you knew you had him...hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

 

Many more flirtatious remarks and several drinks later, you and Jim were having a good time.  You discovered that you actually liked the older man.  He wasn't just a pretty face.  He was good.  He was a pure white light in the middle of the dark hot mess that was Gotham.  His moral code was strong and his determination was unwavering.  The more drinks he got into him, the more passionate he got about whatever you two happened to speak about.  You actually were starting to feel bad about leading him on like this.

But then there were the times like right now when you both got quiet.  When you leaned close to each other and looked deep into each other's eyes and spoke in quick hushed tones.  Everything that you said to each other seemed like a secret, even if it wasn't.  And you so badly wanted to kiss him silly.  Maybe that was the whiskey talking.

You couldn't help but to grin deviously, a sudden burst of confidence surging throughout your system as you slowly ran the very tips of your petite little fingers oh so delicately over the older man's thigh.  They didn't call alcohol liquid courage for nothing.  You had never gotten this bold before.

Looking up at him with hooded eyes under thick, dark lashes, you purred, "But, really.  I can't resist a guy in a suit."

Good hell, did that really just come out of your mouth?

Jim merely raised an eyebrow at your actions, a smirk of his own tugging at the corners of his lips (those lips you just couldn't tear your eyes away from).  He made no move to stop you, however.  He made absolutely no effort to halt your actions as your fingers continue their enchanting little dance on his thigh.

"How about we take this back to my apartment?"  Oh god, his voice sounded like velvet.  If velvet had a sound, it would be his voice.  Wait.  What did he just say?

You could feel your face blanch of all color and your palms became clammy and cold.  Now you really had to do something.  You had to fess up, you just had to.  You couldn't do that to him.  Had it been anyone else, you wouldn't have given a shit.  But...you just couldn't do that to Jim.  It would ruin him.  The fingers on his thigh froze.

"Uh.  Yeah, about that.  You see, uh..." A nervous chuckle tumbled out of your mouth without your permission and you suddenly felt very self conscious.  Your age was showing, "I can't actually do that."

There was a long pause.  The air felt way too still.

"Oh."  The detective appeared to be very surprised.  Honestly, you could hardly blame him.  You couldn't wait to see his face when the real bomb dropped.  He opened his mouth to say something else (probably an eloquent response), but you interrupted him, butting in quickly.

"I'm underage."

More silence.  An uncomfortable amount of silence.  Jim was just staring at you, his face blank and head tilted slightly.  If humans could blue screen like a computer, you were sure this was what it looked like.  You would have about died laughing, had this been in any other situation.

"You're _what_ now?"  He finally questioned, slowly pulling himself away from your touch.  He was so confused that you literally almost lost your shit.  It was all you could do to not cackle, "But-" He motioned at the bar.  He'd already bought you quite a few drinks.

"Fake ID."  You pull it out of the pocket of your skirt and give it a wave, a smirk so cocky on your lips that you were sure Jim had wanted to smack it right off your face.

"Right."  He forced a smile, "You couldn't have maybe, _oh I don't know_ , **_lead with that_**?"

You raised an eyebrow, shoving the ID back into your pocket before he got the bright idea to snatch it out of your grasp.

"Then we wouldn't gave gotten to know each other, now would we?" You giggled before pausing and pulling a face, "And you probably would've arrested me."

"Is Lola even your real name?" You could tell that he was mad.  He was probably boiling on the inside, but not at you.  He was mad at himself for being so stupid. 

"It's a nickname." You tell him truthfully.  He sighed, running his hands over his face.

You shrugged, hands going up in a gesture that said 'what can ya do?' as you sighed in an over dramatic way.  Now that you had purposefully fucked yourself over, you were reverting back to your old self.  The walls were going back up and the sarcastic, bitchy front was making its grand return.  Too late now, though....Jim had already gotten a peek through your facade.

"That too." He sighed heavily before reaching up to pinch at the bridge if his nose.  You couldn't help but think that he was going to go home and slam his head through the wall.  Poor man was so stressed.  He wasn't even in the wrong.  It was you. This had been your fault.  He'd had no idea, "Well then, I think I'll be going."

Yep.  Definitely gonna bang his head into the wall.  And then he was gone.  You had never seen someone dart out of a club so fast in your entire life. 

"See you around!" You called after him, waving as he left the club.  And you certainly would see him around.  You knew damn well that you hadn't seen the last of each other.


	2. Burning

**There Will Be Light**

**Chapter 2: _Burning_**

_I drive fast, wind in my hair.  I push you to the limits, 'cause I just don't care.  I've got a burning desire for you, baby._ The Lana Del Rey song blared in your ears via your earbuds as you swayed in the kitchen.  You had been tasked to clean the whole damn thing.  For no reason.  The more you were pushed and pushed by your stepfather, the more you understood why that ginger maniac Jerome had killed his mother.  Christ.

You soon got distracted, the words of the song drilling through your ears and into your brain.  And you found yourself thinking about Jim Gordon.  Maybe you had been wrong when you were so sure that you would see him again.  It had been two weeks and the only thing you'd seen of him was what you managed to get a peek of on the news.  Perhaps he was avoiding you?

That was absolutely the most stupid thing you had ever thought of in your entire existence.  It wasn't like your paths crossed often to begin with.  It had really been a chance meeting at that shitty club.  Yet, you couldn't stop thinking about it.  What if you hadn't told him you were underage?  What would that night have been like?  What would it have been like to get away from this life of yours that was practically a prison?

Before your mind could wander anymore, you were knocked out of your reverie by a swift and hard smack landing right on your plump little ass.  You yelped, spinning around and yanking your earbuds out, coming face to face with your stepfather.  Figured.  Who else would it be?  A ghost?

"I thought I told you to clean the kitchen?" His voice was cold, chilling, as his equally cold eyes stared into yours.  You could feel yourself cringing away, making yourself a smaller target out of pure instinct.

"Yes, father.  You did." Your voice was small, like a mouse.  This was a normal occurrence.  You knew how to deal with it and get by.  At least, you hoped you did.

Suddenly, your phone was snatched out of your hands and the man that had been making your life hell since you could remember delivered a push to your small shoulders that had you stumbling into the nearby counters.  You shrunk even more, fearing his rage and what you knew to come with it.

"And why aren't you doing it?" Before you could respond, the cruel man pushed you again, causing your hips to slam painfully into the marble countertops behind you.  You groaned, hands shooting up to press against his chest. You had to keep him at bay.

"Please just-" You started, but your stepfather grabbed you harshly by the chin, effectively shutting you up.

"If I catch you standing around again, so help me what I will do to you." You practically squeaked.  He must have been stressed.  Something must have happened at work.  He was only this bad when something had gone wrong at work.

"Yes, father.  It won't happen again." You breathed, feeling your knees and hands beginning to shake.  Then, by some miracle, he accepted that and let you go.  You waited until he stomped away to even dare to move again and when you did, your movements were slow and shaken.

Slowly, you put your hair up into a messy bun and rolled up the sleeves of your Gotham High hoodie before getting onto your knees and beginning to scrub the floor with all you were worth.  Tears slipped out of your eyes and you hastily wiped them away.  You didn't have the time for this.  You had to clean.

* * *

 

After a good half hour of cleaning, the doorbell rang.  Oh, Jesus.  You certainly didn't have the time for this!  It was probably just some scammers or Jehovah's Witnesses.  Same thing, really.  But, then whomever was at the door persisted, turning to knocking this time.  Sighing heavily and cursing beneath your breath, you pushed yourself off the floor and trudged your way through the grand hall of your home (mansion would probably be a better word) and to the door.

You unlocked the large wooden door and cracked it open, poking your head out to see who the hell was there and what the hell they could possibly want.  You felt your heart jump up into your throat and you breath hitched.  The man must have been like Candyman.  Jim Gordon was at your door.

"Nice to see you again, Detective Gordon." You greeted, opening the door wider and leaning against the doorframe.  You sent Jim a small smile, hoping to God that he might notice that something was wrong.  Now would be the perfect time for him to, y'know....arrest your stepfather.

"Likewise." Gordon looked surprised to see you, "If you don't mind me asking...why are you here?"

You laughed.  Actually, it was more like a giggle than anything else.  You placed your hands on your hips, leaning your head to one side as you looked at him.  You were staring at him like the sun shined out of his ass, you knew it.

"I live here?"  You shrug your shoulders, your entire demeanor casual and as normal as possible, "What are _you_ doing here?" You shoot back at him, eyebrow quirking up as well as the side of your lips.

"Uh, your father-" Jim began and you just had to cut him off.

" _Stepfather_." Your real father had been murdered.  The monster that you resided with was the furthest thing from your father and, if you were honest with yourself, you were pretty sure he had everything to do with your father's death.

"Right.  Your stepfather, Mister Leeland, contacted the GCPD with some information on the suspect of a potential homicide."  Jim replied slowly, obviously unsure of whether or not he should even be sharing this information with you.  Especially since he knew you had a knack for lying.  He couldn't even be sure if you were really Leeland's stepdaughter.

You appeared unfazed, although you were really just exasperated at this point.  It figured that your stepfather would be involved with something like this.  It really wasn't all that unusual that an arms dealer like him would know a few people.

"Well that's unsurprising." You muse aloud, still feigning disinterest, "Well, come on in.  Don't just stand outside."  You finally bring yourself to say, pushing yourself off the doorframe and making your way inside the spacious Leeland Manor.  You beckoned for Jim to follow you, telling him to close the door behind him.

"My stepfather's in his office, but he should be downstairs soon enough."  You continued after hearing the door slam echoing throughout the grand hall.  You stopped in the middle of the hall, contemplating going back to work in the kitchen when you felt Jim standing behind you.

You turned to face him.  He was looking at you seriously, like he was trying to figure you out.  You could practically see the wheels turning in his head and you placed her hands on your thin waist, looking at him the same way he was looking at you.

After a few tense moments of that, of your stepfather not making an appearance, you took a small step towards Gordon.  You wanted to touch him and you wanted him to touch you.  Not necessarily anything bad or sexual.  You just wanted....something.  Anything.  You wanted to know that somehow everything would be okay.

"Until his royal highness decides to appear, you can just..." Your sentence trailed off.  You didn't even know what you were going to say.  You licked your lips slowly, hands coming up to dance along the lapels of Jim's suit.  You could have died from happiness at that alone.  He didn't pull away.  He didn't react at all, really.  But, no reaction was better than a bad one.

"Ah.  Detective Gordon." Suddenly, your stepfather was descending the grand staircase.  Of course.  The damned man always spoiled everything, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

You and Jim both jerked away from each other at Leeland's appearance.  Your hands dropped from his suit and you both took a hasty step back.  You had to fight back a smirk.  Obviously, the attraction that he had felt two weeks ago was still there, if he was scared of getting caught with you.

Leeland hadn't caught that at all, thank God, and he took the liberty of leading Jim towards his office.  Up the stairs they went and you plastered a little grin on your face, watching them go and wishing that you would have an excuse to follow them up there.


	3. Chapter 3

**There Will Be Light**

**Chapter 3: _What You Want_**

_You can still be what you want to be, what you said you were when I met you...when you met me._ You had managed to snatch your phone back from your stepfather (it had been relatively easy to do, since the idiot had left it on the banister of the stairwell) and the song playing into your ears now was quite a somber one.  It was like Pandora was telling you something.  Something that you already knew.  You had to get out of there.

You pulled one earbud out of your ear as you heard your stepfather calling your name from up in his office. Probably wanted some drinks for himself and Jim.  Not like he didn't drink enough, but hey!  Maybe he would eventually drink himself to death.  Or you'd be able to slip some rat poison into his brandy.

You jogged up the stairs, making sure to hide your phone away in your hoodie pocket as you did so, and made your way to the end of the hall where the office was.  Knocking three times on the large wooden door, you poked your head in, a fake smile plastered onto your lips.

"Yes, father?" Your voice sounded quiet, meek.  You sounded small and you hated it.  You absolutely despised how utterly weak you sounded.  Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jim look at you.  He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly.  He hadn't been here long, but he knew damn well that something was up.

"Took you long enough to get here." Leeland almost growled.  He caught himself in the knick of time, remembering that his detective guest was still within the room.  You bowed your head, muttering your apologies before your stepfather motioned for you to come into the room.

The horrid man grabbed your wrist when you got close enough and you looked down at him, body stiffening only just slightly.  Jim shifted in his seat, gripping onto the arm of his chair.  It seemed like all he could do to not launch himself at Leeland.  He definitely knew something was wrong now.  Thank God.

"Get us some drinks, would you?" Though it was a question, he made it seem like a demand. His grip on your wrist tightened fractionally when you didn't respond quick enough and you nodded curtly, slowly beginning to tug your hand away from him.

Finally, he let go of your wrist and you cleared your throat. You were honestly too scared to say anything, so you just stole a glance at Gordon.  His face was hard, jaw clenched and mouth set in a grim line.  It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on here and, quite frankly, it sickened him.  Made him want to go things that were usually against his moral code.  It seemed like you had that effect on him.

You scurried to the liquor cabinet, immediately setting to work and preparing the drinks.  You hadn't even the nerve to ask Jim what he wanted, although you already knew.  Whiskey was his style, as you'd learned at the bar.  You hoped to God that he wouldn't do anything to even slightly imply that he had met you.  Your stepfather would surely kill you then.

As you went about preparing drinks, you strained your ears to listen to their conversation.  More like the questioning, actually.  It was all a form of subtle interrogation and Jim was almost to the point of flat out grilling your stepfather into the ground.  Good.  Maybe he would.  Or maybe Leeland would make an even bigger ass of himself than he already had.

You heard something about a series of murders, all involving your stepfather's firearms.  Figured.  Of course they did.  You wouldn't have been the least surprised if the man had pulled the trigger himself.  He did have quite the mean streak, even when you weren't involved.  You knew with all your heart that he was the reason your parents were dead.  Hell, maybe even Bruce Wayne's, too.

"Ah, here." You spoke softly as you gently passed a glass of cognac to your stepfather, trying to ignore the way his steely eyes lingered on your form.  The man was like a shark.  All he wanted to do was consume.  As of late, he'd wanted you.  He'd wanted you badly.  And, a few nights before, he'd finally gotten you.  He'd gotten so much worse so quickly.

You handed the glass of whiskey to Jim, sending him a small smile as you did so. He nodded up at you, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile that he had meant to be reassuring.  But it came off as more of an awkward facial twitch.

"Thank you." He murmured, taking the glass of alcoholic beverage from you.  He allowed his fingers to brush up against yours as he took hold of his drink.  That was all you needed.  That was all you had needed in that moment.  That small gesture was enough for you to know that everything would be okay.

You ignored the sting of tears in your eyes as you hurried from the room, closing the door behind you.

* * *

About thirty minutes later, you were back to cleaning the kitchen (and had opted to blare some Marilyn Manson into your ears instead of that depressing shit you'd stumbled upon before).  You sighed, scrubbing the floor with such vigor that you knew your arms would be killing you in the morning.  You hadn't even noticed your stepfather rush out the door on an 'emergency call'.  It was ridiculous, really.  The man acted like he was a doctor and had gotten paged.

You got up from the floor, opting to start on cleaning the stove.  As you turned, you caught sight of Jim standing in the doorway to the kitchen and you gasped, almost letting out a shriek.  You dropped your phone, it and the earbuds clattering to the floor as you stared at him.

You had to force your heart rate to slow down before you could say or do anything, but he had already closed the space between you.  He stood an arms length away, hands touching your shoulders gently.  You almost laughed, feeling more tears spring into your eyes as you began to shake with relief.  Your hands reached out, finding the lapels of his jacket and latching onto them like a lifeline.

"Are you okay?" That's all he said.  His eyes...they were so concerned.  For a moment, all you could do was try to process that someone actually gave a shit about what was going on in your house.  Everyone else you'd tried to get to notice had failed to do so, but Jim...Jim was different.  Jim was good.  That was why you could never have him.

"Do I really look okay?" You hadn't meant to snap, really.  It was just a habit.  A defense mechanism, if you will.

Jim sighed, eyes looking over your body for any signs of abuse.  He couldn't arrest Leeland over a gut instinct.  Not over this, not over the murders.  He needed some kind of proof, some kind of evidence.

"You won't find any evidence until you get my clothes off." It came off as more crude than you intended, but it was the truth.  Once Gordon looked back into your eyes, he saw the sadness in them.  He was the desperation and the agony.  And he would have been heartless not to help you.

Removing one hand from your shoulder, he sunk his hand into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone.  He grabbed one of your hands gently, prying it off his jacket as he shoved the cellular device into your palm.

"Program your number into there.  I'll text you so you have my number, okay?  I want you to call me if anything else happens.  Not the police.  Call me.  In this city, they'll take thirty minutes to respond to a domestic call.  I won't."  He cupped your cheek with his hand and you nodded, a tear slipping down your skin.

"Thank you."  You whispered, handing his phone back to him after you'd programmed in your number.

Jim offered you a weak smile, brushing the tear from your cheek before dropping his hands to his sides.

"Be careful, okay?" He murmured as he backed away from you slowly and you nodded.  Then he was gone.  He was gone, but he knew.  He knew, he cared, and he was going to do something about it.

 


End file.
